


tell me if you love me or not

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 14:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12866157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: It starts in Sweden.





	tell me if you love me or not

**Author's Note:**

> here she is, the longest fic i've ever written in probably the shortest amount of time. that might not be true, but it sounds good. thank you to allie and tori for all of their help with this! without them, it would make a lot less sense and also probably not even exist. title is from "what lovers do" by maroon 5 - and thank you, audrey, for tweeting it so that i listened to it.

It starts in Sweden. 

The lights in Ericsson Globe feel brighter than the other rinks, even though Gabe knows they’re not, but as the seconds tick down in the third he swears he can feel them, intensifying, glaring down on him as the pucks keep missing the back of the net. 

Twenty-seven seconds left, a faceoff and a chance and then he’s getting pushed to the ice by that asshole Phaneuf as the Sens clear the puck and something in Gabe just snaps. His helmet comes off as he struggles back to his feet and shoves Phaneuf into the net. Anderson is trying to pull him away, but all he can hear is a roaring in his ears as he lands a punch or two. The refs break it up, then Burrows gets involved - fine by him, there’s a furious, desperate anger uncurling in his stomach, he wants to pummel the guy. He’s barely aware of what he’s yelling as the refs skate him away, and he sits in the box and fumes until the final horn.

Gabe wants to get out of there as fast as possible, wants to go back to his hotel room and go to sleep and wake up on Friday morning with the games still ahead of them. He answers the postgame questions, he showers, and then he sits on the bus and waits for the rest of the guys and lets it sink in that that’s not going to happen. It’s done, over, one lousy point to show for it. The disappointment starts to settle in his bones and he leans his head against the window as the bus rumbles to life and pulls away from the Globe.

 

 

“Okay, you’re coming out with us,” EJ tells him, zero preamble, when Gabe finally opens the door of his hotel room after multiple rounds of insistent knocking.

“I don’t really - ” he starts, and EJ just pushes past him, followed by Nate and Josty and Mikko, and literally throws a pair of pants at him. Gabe sputters as they hit him and fall to the floor. “What the hell, how about some respect for your captain, Jesus.”

“Get dressed. We’re not leaving without you.” Nate has his game face on, arms crossed over his chest.

“I feel like I’m coming down with something,” Gabe says, lamely. He knows there’s no way they’re buying that.

“Full of shit,” Mikko announces, more to the others than him, and picks Gabe’s pants up and holds them out. 

Gabe sighs, takes them, and ducks into the bathroom to change. It _would_ be stupid to pass up the chance to get drunk in Sweden on his last night here for months.

 

 

Nate directs the Uber to a club that he already knows about, somehow, and it’s loud and dark and Gabe settles in at a table in the far corner with a beer and it’s - well, far from perfect. Perfect would be if they were all out together, celebrating a win as a team, but it’s fine. It’s not even really the losses; they weren’t terrible games, they’ll rebound. He scrapes at the label on his beer and allows himself the silent, crushing admission that he wanted more from these games for himself, for his friends and family, for Stockholm.

Oh well. Gabe drains the first beer and starts the second one that’s already there, sweating onto the paper coaster. Nothing he can do about it now. It still sucks, ending the week on this note, when it started so good. Gabe thinks at least he has that: three days in Stockholm with his team, feeling so happy he might’ve been flying. Tyson told him repeatedly that his head looks even bigger when he smiles so much, but even that has a warm glow to it; Tyson couldn’t say it without smiling back at him.

Gabe’s brain and heart do this funny kind of stutter step at the same time, and he looks around. Nate has disappeared, but the other guys are still at the table; EJ and Josty at his end, quiet too, Mikko at the other, talking in Finnish to a group of people he doesn’t recognize.

“Hey. Where’s Tyson?” As an afterthought, Gabe adds, “Not you, Josty. Tyson.” Like that makes sense.

“I saw him talking to Kerfy and Yak at the hotel,” Josty offers, unoffended. “He was in sweats, I don’t know if he was going out.”

“So he’s back at the hotel?” There’s the beginning of an idea, a decision, forming in Gabe’s mind. He can’t quite put his finger on it yet, but he can feel it, sparking at the base of his spine.

EJ raises his eyebrows at him, takes a sip of his drink without saying anything.

“I guess so,” Josty says. “Or he might’ve gone with them, they were talking about finding a bar. Something about darts? There was a wager. A darts wager.” 

That - Gabe absolutely is not going to worry about whatever that means. He digs his phone out of his pocket, ignores EJ just _watching_ him like that - seriously, it’s weird - and texts Tyson without really thinking about it.

_did you stay back?_

Tyson’s response comes fast enough that it’s an answer on its own, but - 

_yeah. didn’t feel up to anything. you?_

Gabe thinks about that for a minute, puts his phone back in his pocket without answering, thinks for another few minutes. It’s just, he wants this trip to be good, wants it to feel good when he remembers it later. The games are a lost cause, but he could - well. He’s not stupid. He knows that he and Tyson have been orbiting each other for awhile now, this thing stretching out between them that they both know is there, and he thinks about the way his chest filled up with warmth when they all walked back to the hotel together on Tuesday after the team dinner, Tyson hanging back with him. Their hands almost touched and Tyson leaned in and said, so quietly Gabe almost didn’t hear him, “I really like it here. I like that it makes you happy.” 

Gabe thinks maybe this could be good. He thinks maybe he deserves this, and then he thinks, _fuck it_. He finishes the second beer, sets it down on the table definitively, and takes his phone back out. Requests an Uber back to the hotel. 

“Dude,” EJ says.

“It’s fine,” Gabe tells him. “It’s good.”

EJ looks like he disagrees, but doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and gives a two-finger salute as Gabe drops enough money on the table to cover the first two rounds and gets up.

“Oh, are you leaving?” Josty asks, oblivious.

“I have someplace to be,” Gabe tells him. That same feeling crawls a few inches further up his spine.

 

 

Gabe’s pretty sure he knows which room Tyson is in, but when he knocks, there’s no answer. He waits and knocks again, looking up and down the hall to make sure he’s not about to get busted. Still no answer. One more knock; he gives it thirty seconds and is about to retreat back to his own room in defeat when he hears footsteps and the door opens.

Tyson is in sweats and a rumpled t-shirt advertising beautiful Victoria, BC that Gabe is relatively sure his mom got for him. There’s a pillow crease across one of his cheeks. Gabe suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Did - were you asleep?” Gabe folds his arms across his chest and then inwardly winces and drops them by his sides, hoping for casual.

“Dozed off watching a movie,” Tyson says, his voice thick. “Hi. What’s up? Did you go out?”

“Uh, yeah, with EJ and Nate and Mikko and Josty,” Gabe says, putting his hands in his pockets and immediately taking them back out, clasping them together.

Tyson rubs the back of his head. “So you’re here because…” 

“I decided to come back early,” Gabe says.

Tyson laughs a little. “Okay. Are you okay? You seem weird, and that was a tough loss, and - ”

“I’m fine,” Gabe interrupts. “Well - I don’t know - sort of.”

“Okay,” Tyson says again, more drawn out this time. “So what’re you doing now?”

Gabe hesitates, thinks _fuck it_ again, and surges forward to kiss Tyson, hands cupping his face. Tyson kisses back instinctively, body leaning into Gabe’s, like he’s been waiting for this. Maybe he has been. Gabe walks Tyson backwards into the relative darkness of his hotel room and kicks the door shut, but before he can push Tyson against the wall and thoroughly kiss him, Tyson pulls away.

“What’re you doing?” he asks again. His eyes are wide, but his voice is low, and he’s still right there, pressed close to Gabe in the entryway of his hotel room.

“I - I just want you,” Gabe tells him honestly, and he watches as Tyson closes his eyes, watches as his throat moves as he swallows. “Tys - ”

Tyson cuts him off by kissing him again, wrapping his arms around Gabe, pressing both hands against Gabe’s back and pulling him closer and leaning back into the wall, and then they’re really kissing, desperate and deep. Gabe can feel it in his toes. He lays kisses along the underside of Tyson’s jaw, and when he works one of his knees between Tyson’s legs, he’s rewarded with the small, stifled noise Tyson makes, the way he presses his head against the wall and lets his mouth fall open. Even in the dimly lit room, Gabe can see how flushed he is.

Gabe smiles and kisses him again.

“Can we,” Tyson says against Gabe’s mouth a few minutes later, pushing at him. “Bed, clothes off, Gabe, c’mon, Jesus.”

“You’re so demanding,” Gabe tells him, his chest warm, starting to unbutton his shirt. “Can’t even say please.”

Tyson, about to take off his own shirt, stops and looks up at him. His eyes are dark. “What, you want me to?”

Well. That’s. “Um,” Gabe says. His face feels hot, and he knows he’s flushed now too.

“I will,” Tyson tells him, his voice low and dirty, because Tyson wants him to die. Tyson is also somehow now fully naked, which isn’t new, and half hard, which is, and he’s flushed all over, and Gabe is fluent in two languages but doubts he could come up with a single word in either right now if his life depended on it. “But c’mon, here - let me - ”

Gabe lets Tyson finish the buttons on his shirt and push it off his shoulders, and then he starts working on Gabe’s belt while Gabe takes off his own t-shirt, drops it on the floor and kicks off his pants and boxers together once Tyson gets his belt undone. 

Tyson gives him a very blatant once over.

“Like what you see?” Gabe asks, going for smug, but it comes out too earnest, too genuine, and he wants to swallow the words immediately. Tyson doesn’t seem to even register it though, just keeps looking, his face soft and open. “Tyson?” 

“Yeah,” Tyson breathes, finally, looking up at him and putting a hand on Gabe’s chest. “Yeah, I - God. You know what you look like.”

Gabe kisses him, one arm firmly around his waist, and they make their way over to the bed, stumbling on each other’s feet and falling onto the messed-up blankets together. Tyson’s thigh is pressed firmly between Gabe’s, and it’s taking a hell of a lot of restraint for Gabe to not grind down against it and have this be over before it even starts. He thinks, based on the way Tyson keeps pressing closer and then withdrawing, that he feels the same way. 

“Tys,” he says when Tyson starts sucking a mark onto his upper chest. “Tyson, hey, what do you want?”

Tyson braces his hands on the mattress, next to Gabe’s shoulders, and leans down to kiss him again, his voice muffled against the corner of Gabe’s mouth. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Okay,” Gabe says easily. “Wait, you - have stuff?”

Tyson leans over the side of the bed and digs around in one of his bags, coming back up with lube and condoms, which he offers to Gabe as if to say _obviously_. Gabe just looks at him. 

“What?” Tyson says.

“Do you just carry this stuff with you all the time?” Gabe asks, almost overwhelmed with how much fondness he feels for Tyson, his same old Tyson, whose hair is sticking up in five different directions, Tyson who’s currently looking at him like he’s an idiot.

“I mean, I can’t predict when someone’s gonna show up at my hotel room and say they _want me_ ,” Tyson says. 

Gabe throws one of the extra condoms at him. “Funny. Move.”

Tyson rolls off him while Gabe fumbles with the cap on the lube, gets it open and slicks up his fingers, presses one in and then two, working Tyson open slowly. When he starts to add a third, Tyson hisses, biting his lower lip, and Gabe freezes. “Shit, did I - is that too much?”

“No,” Tyson says, his voice rough, color high on his cheeks. “‘s good, go on, give me another.”

Heat twists in Gabe’s stomach and he does, watching Tyson’s face as he works to find the right angle, and he knows he’s there when Tyson’s gasping, clutching at the blankets, dick hard and leaking. 

“Jesus, stop, fuck me already,” Tyson finally says, voice choked, grabbing for Gabe’s wrist. “I don’t wanna come like this, I want - _please_ , Gabe.”

“Okay,” Gabe says, because he’s so hard it hurts and Tyson looks so good and he’s so, so tired of waiting for this. His hands are shaking slightly, and he has to stop and take a deep breath before he can rip the condom wrapper open and roll it on. Tyson is watching him, eyes intense, as he lines up and pushes in and - _fuck_ , he almost sees stars, Tyson feels so good and hot.

“Fuck,” Tyson is saying. “Fuck, shit, will you fucking fuck me already, you - ” and then Gabe bottoms out and he cuts himself off, breathing hard, his bottom lip almost white with how hard he’s biting it.

“It’s okay,” Gabe says. Tyson blinks at him. “I want to hear you,” he clarifies, and Tyson turns bright red and covers his eyes with his arm. “Stop, why’re you - ”

“You’re so _much_ sometimes,” Tyson says, very quiet. “Gabe, come on.”

Gabe nods, grips Tyson’s hip with one hand and starts moving, slowly, the feeling of Tyson around him almost too much. When he finds the right angle he fucks Tyson faster, until Tyson is gasping and cursing under his breath, one hand twisted up in the sheets and the other on his own dick, and Gabe both never wants this to end and really wants to come, like, now. 

“I’m,” he starts, voice breaking. “Tys - ”

“Fuck,” Tyson says, and comes, clenching around Gabe. “Jesus, I - _Gabe_.” 

All Gabe sees behind his eyelids as he comes is black, Tyson’s voice echoing in his ears, and he’s vaguely aware of Tyson linking their fingers together, pulling him down to the mattress, tangling his other hand up in Gabe’s hair.

“Hey,” Tyson says after a minute or five. Gabe lifts his head up from Tyson’s shoulder, blinks at him, and Tyson just leans in and kisses him. “You’re gonna have to move, you’re so heavy.”

Gabe rolls off him and presses up against his side, kisses Tyson again and lets his eyes close.

“Also, I’m disgusting, I have to get up,” Tyson continues, because apparently even immediately after sex he still never stops talking. “Gabe, at least - Jesus. Did you hear me? You aren’t much better, you should get up - ”

“I am absolutely not doing that,” Gabe tells him, voice muffled by one of the pillows. Tyson huffs and gets out of bed, and Gabe can hear him banging around in the bathroom, running the faucet, crashing into something and swearing under his breath. Gabe grins into his pillow and falls asleep happy.

 

 

Tyson sits with Nate on the plane like he always does, right behind Gabe, kicks at his seat and offers him dry cereal from the box of Froot Loops he stashed in his luggage and bitches at Nate for talking through the movie they’re trying to watch together, and it’s all very normal. Somewhere over the Atlantic, when Tyson and Nate have quit arguing and fallen asleep leaning on each other, EJ appears out of nowhere and drops into the empty seat next to Gabe.

“Jesus,” Gabe says. “Wear a bell. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“Well?” EJ says, ignoring Gabe’s thoughtful advice.

“Well, what?” EJ gives him a _don’t bullshit me_ look. “I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”

“What happens now?” EJ asks.

Gabe shrugs. “We didn’t talk about it.”

“Just be careful, okay? He - ” EJ frowns a little, deciding on his words. “You know how he is.” 

Gabe does know. He knows that Tyson doesn’t really commit, says the constant travel makes it too difficult, jokes that his only long-term relationship is Nate, but he also knows that it doesn’t have to be a thing. It’s just Tyson. They know what they are to each other; sex doesn’t have to change it. He says as much to EJ, who looks politely incredulous.

“Yeah, but - you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

EJ briefly looks heavenward, sighs heavily, opens his mouth and closes it again. “Okay. Glad you’ve got it figured out.”

“Thanks,” Gabe says. Behind them, Tyson kicks his seat in his sleep and mutters to himself. Gabe decides the smile on his face is unrelated.

 

 

Gabe doesn’t know what to expect once they’re back in Denver, if he’s being honest, but before he has time to get worked up about it, Tyson calls him Landesnerd three times during their Wednesday practice, invites Gabe to get brunch with him and Nate afterwards, and steals all of Gabe’s bacon right off his plate, reaching across the table like a heathen. 

“‘No, Tyson, you can’t have all of the bacon that I ordered for myself,’” Gabe says, watching as his last piece disappears. Nate is laughing into his orange juice and pretending he’s not. 

Tyson grins at him. “You don’t need it.”

“Wow,” Gabe says, and retaliates by taking Tyson’s extra syrup. Business as usual, then. 

He and Nate are outside the restaurant, waiting for Tyson to finish paying - he drew the short straw and Gabe is still peeved about the bacon anyway - and Nate says, “Hey. Be patient with him, okay?”

“What?” Of all the things for Nate to say to him, Gabe wasn’t expecting that one. “Why?”

“You know how he is,” Nate tells him, which Gabe is tired of hearing. “He’s not great with his own feelings.”

“I’m not asking for feelings,” Gabe says, one eye on Tyson inside the restaurant. He’s digging through the candy jar on the hostess stand, intent on something. “Like… that’s not what this is.”

Nate laughs and puts his sunglasses on. “Okay, man. Sure.” 

Tyson emerges from the restaurant then, a lollipop in his mouth, and tosses one to Nate and offers the other to Gabe. “I made sure to find grape,” he tells Gabe, and makes a face. “Gross, but it’s your favorite.” 

Gabe takes it, smiling at him; their fingers brush and his stomach flips. Well, shit.

 

 

They beat the Capitals on Thursday. Tyson showers and changes and disappears faster than usual, but Gabe doesn’t think much of it; he says goodnight to the guys who are left in the room and heads out, feeling satisfied and tired and happy, like he always does after a good win. He’s barely in his car when his phone lights up with a text from Tyson, and he thumbs it open curiously.

_i’m following you back to your place_

Gabe laughs to himself, shakes his head, stubbornly pretends he isn’t endeared as he types out a reply.

_don’t stalk me, it isn’t cute. where are you_

_in my car. i see you laughing. let’s go i want to suck your dick_

Gabe very decidedly is not laughing anymore. He swallows hard and starts the car, wills himself not to speed home. Tyson tailgates him the entire way, which is just so typical, and Gabe gives him a look as soon as they’re face to face in his driveway. “You’re a terrible driver.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Tyson shoots back, walking past him to the garage and punching in the door code like he fucking owns the place. 

“Yeah, well, you want to suck my dick,” Gabe mutters, following Tyson into his own house and enjoying the way Tyson’s ears get red. 

Zoey is all over them as soon as they get inside, jumping on Tyson excitedly, and Tyson baby-talks her (“who’s the prettiest dog in the whole world? Is it you? Is it Zoey?”) while Gabe fills her water bowl and feeds her, and then suddenly they’re standing in the kitchen looking at each other.

“Uh,” Gabe says, stupidly. “Do you want a glass of water or anything?”

“What - Jesus, no, I don’t want a glass of water.” Tyson actually laughs at him, comes around the kitchen island and leans up and kisses him, hands on Gabe’s upper arms. Gabe slides one hand into Tyson’s still-damp hair and kisses him back roughly. They kiss until they’re both breathing heavily and Gabe feels warm all over, and then Tyson pulls away, smiles serenely, and drops to his knees.

“In my kitchen, really?” Gabe asks weakly. 

Tyson ignores him, intent on unzipping his pants, and Gabe tips his head back and tries not to think about how ridiculous this is - they’re still in their suits, for Christ’s sake - and then Tyson gets his mouth on Gabe’s dick and it’s very easy to stop thinking. 

Gabe grips the countertop with both hands as Tyson takes him deep in one motion, and then when Tyson pulls back off most of the way and uses his tongue, Gabe makes a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making. It’s embarrassing. He’s pretty sure Tyson would be laughing at him if he didn’t have a mouthful of dick. As it is, he’s digging his fingers into Gabe’s thighs, his grip so tight it’ll probably leave marks, and Gabe genuinely cannot help the shiver that runs through him at the thought. 

Tyson makes a noise, and Gabe says, “Shit, sorry.”

Tyson pulls off and looks up at him, mouth obscenely red, and actually says, “No, it’s fine, I like it.” 

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that, Gabe wonders vaguely as Tyson gets back to it. He tries to keep his hips still anyway, but it’s rough and hot and good in all the exact right ways, and it only takes a few minutes before he knows he can’t hold on much longer, which he says aloud because it’s polite. Tyson hums around his dick and keeps going, and that’s about that. Gabe swears and almost slams his knee into the side of Tyson’s head and comes down his throat. 

He chances a glance at Tyson once he’s somewhat recovered and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Tyson is still kneeling there, one hand on Gabe’s thigh and the other pressing against his own dick in his pants, eyes half-lidded, and it takes literally all of Gabe’s self-control not to reach down and gently run his thumb over Tyson’s cheek. Instead he holds out his hand, pulls Tyson to his feet, kisses him a little rougher than necessary. Their teeth click together. Tyson presses in close and wraps one arm around Gabe’s shoulders, and after a minute he squirms.

“Can you, like - please,” he gets out, and Gabe bites at his jaw before getting a hand between them, jerking him off with quick, rough movements until Tyson moans and comes all over his hand. Gabe wipes it off on Tyson’s shirt and kisses his temple and tries not to think about how much he likes the way Tyson is leaning into him.

“I’ll take that glass of water now,” Tyson says after a few minutes. “And, hey, want to watch a movie?”

“I probably don’t have anything you haven’t seen,” Gabe admits.

Tyson shrugs. “I’ll rewatch something. Don’t tell Nate, all he ever wants to watch is The Wire and it’s good but if I see it one more time I’ll lose it, so I’ll only watch new stuff with him. Can I borrow some of your sweats?”

Gabe gets him the sweats and they watch No Country For Old Men and Tyson doesn’t even tell him what happens to spoil it like he usually does. It’s nice. Then he goes home, and Gabe lies in bed alone and stares at the ceiling until 3 AM and tries not to think about Tyson’s mouth. 

 

 

So it keeps happening like that, then. 

Sometimes Gabe texts Tyson, asks if he wants to come over and they make out on the couch for twenty minutes first and then watch TV naked under a blanket, feet up on the coffee table, afterwards; other times Tyson just follows him home, including one particularly memorable night in mid December after a game against Tampa. Gabe gets five points and they go back to his place and Tyson fucks him on his back, spread out in the middle of the bed, sucks red marks all over his chest and shoulders.

Gabe isn’t complaining.

He also really isn’t complaining when Tyson crawls back in bed next to him, gives him an open-mouthed kiss that tastes like mint and collapses against his chest, one arm thrown over Gabe’s body, and falls asleep. Gabe lies there, listening to Tyson’s snuffly breathing, surrounded by his warmth and smell and the reminder of how very much at home he already is in Gabe’s bed, and tries desperately to ignore his heart, frantically tap dancing away against his rib cage. 

 

 

Gabe can endure a lot of things in exchange for a lapful of Tyson, who’s warm and soft and leaning into him, but this, he’s pretty sure, is pushing it. “This movie is dumb,” Gabe says. “Tyson. Hey. Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Tyson says, not moving. “I’m watching the movie. Shut up.”

“It makes no sense,” Gabe whispers. Tyson had showed up unannounced two hours ago with a hangdog look on his face and admitted he’d just dropped his sister off at the airport post-Christmas. Gabe knows that he doesn’t get to see her very often, that he was already bummed because his parents didn’t come to town for the holiday; Tyson had mumbled it all into his neck late at night a few weeks ago, something about a cruise occupying them through the short break and how it was fine, really, Victoria would be here and they’d spend time with Nate and his family, but he’d sounded sad and small. So Gabe made him hot chocolate and let him pick a movie, and now he’s stuck watching a cartoon about robots.

“Wall-E is a classic,” Tyson says. “Be quiet.”

Gabe is quiet for a minute, nudges his nose against the back of Tyson’s ear, but really, he can’t just watch this movie. “Tyson, there are boy and girl robots,” Gabe says, because seriously. How is he the only one who thinks this is weird.

“It’s cute,” Tyson says. “They care about the environment, Gabe, come on.”

“Robots don’t have genders,” Gabe insists. “They’re computers. They’re sexless.”

“If you don’t shut up,” Tyson tells him, squirming around in his arms so they’re face to face, “you’re going to be sexless.”

Gabe laughs at him, and Tyson elbows him in the ribs and pretends to bite his nose and then kisses him, and they end up getting incredibly distracted and having sex on the couch and Gabe never finds out what happens to the robots. Tyson is smiling again though, his eyes warm and crinkling up at the corners as he rests his chin on Gabe’s chest and runs his fingers over the most ticklish parts of Gabe’s sides, and that’s really all Gabe cares about. 

 

 

“If you want Cinnamon Toast Crunch, buy it yourself,” Gabe tells Tyson, grabbing a box of Raisin Bran and dropping it in the cart. He’s not quite sure how they ended up at the grocery store; they went to a late movie and then to Dairy Queen, and they were sitting in the car eating their ice cream when Gabe had absently mentioned he needed to go grocery shopping tomorrow, and Tyson had said “me too, let’s go now.” Except now they’re at the 24-hour Safeway just before midnight and Tyson has nothing in his corner of the cart except a single Red Delicious apple - which, who actually eats Red Delicious apples, Gabe is sleeping with a complete weirdo - and is just following Gabe up and down the aisles, suggesting he buy food Gabe will never, not in one million years, buy. 

“If it’s at your house, I’ll eat it there,” Tyson says, holding it up hopefully. 

“So then buy it and leave it at my house,” Gabe says, looking very pointedly at the peanut butter to find the all-natural one he usually gets. He’s absolutely not thinking about Tyson casually talking about having food he likes at Gabe’s house. 

“Ugh. You’re the worst,” Tyson says, putting the cereal back on the shelf. He pushes off with one foot and rides the cart the rest of the way down the aisle before almost crashing into the endcap and sending the boxes of macaroni and cheese that are on sale, two for $1, flying everywhere. At the last second he rights himself. 

Gabe sighs, and follows.

“Look,” Tyson says, in the frozen food aisle. “Gabe, look at this, they sell pizza with cauliflower crust. Who would buy that?” He sounds disgusted, and Gabe rolls his eyes.

“It’s gluten-free, Tys.”

“More like taste-free,” Tyson mutters. 

“How are you a professional athlete?” Gabe asks, squinting at the ingredient list on a package of frozen blackberries to make sure there’s no added sugar. “Do you eat anything healthy, ever?”

“Fuck off,” Tyson says. “I drink protein shakes - ”

“Filled with chocolate and sugar, but okay.”

“ - and fruits, and vegetables - ”

“French fries aren’t a vegetable.”

“ - _broccoli_ , and salmon,” Tyson continues, his voice rising. “I eat healthy stuff all the time, you’re so boring, Jesus.” The color is rising in his cheeks.

“Okay, okay,” Gabe says, looking away, because this will end one of two ways if it continues, and he’s pretty sure Avs PR will murder them both if they end up on Snapchat or whatever, yelling at each other about Tyson’s diet and/or making out at Safeway. “You’re right, I’m wrong and boring, you are - you’re just the picture of health.”

“You can buy me ice cream to make it up to me,” Tyson says promptly, opening one of the freezers and leaning in to survey his options, selecting a carton and letting the door slap shut. “Here. Rocky Road. It’s on sale, Gabe.”

Gabe huffs out a laugh, because of course. He looks at Tyson putting the ice cream in the cart, smiling to himself all pleased, with a spot on his coat that Gabe is pretty sure is some of his Blizzard from earlier, and thinks, _I love you_.

Then he thinks, _oh, fuck_.

 

 

To EJ’s credit, when Gabe just shows up at his house the next day, he doesn’t look particularly surprised, just lets him in and follows him to the kitchen, where Gabe throws himself down on a barstool and puts his head on the counter.

“Is this about Tyson?” EJ asks. 

Gabe just groans in response.

“Okay,” EJ says. “It seems bad, so I’ll let you take a rain check on me saying I told you so.” Gabe hears the fridge open, close, and then EJ sets a can down on the counter by his head. Gabe squints at it. It’s -

“Seriously, Bud Light? Who drinks this? What the hell is your problem?”

“This must be really bad,” EJ comments, taking a sip of his own disgusting beer. “You seem cranky.”

Gabe rubs a hand over his face, cracks the beer open because it’s sitting there and why not. “I’m pretty sure I love him.”

“And?” EJ says, like Gabe had said _it’s nice out today_ or _you have no front teeth_.

“And what? What am I gonna _do_? I feel like you should be more surprised by this information, by the way.” 

EJ somehow manages to say _I told you so_ without opening his mouth, and if Gabe wasn’t in crisis, it would be impressive. As it is, he just glares.

“Have you tried talking to him?” EJ says. “Because no offense, but you guys are basically dating already. You haven’t told me anything about what’s been going on, but I’m also not stupid. Showing up for practice three whole minutes apart basically every day for the last two months isn’t very subtle.”

“We’re not,” Gabe tries to explain. “We’re just - ”

“Hooking up? Okay. You’re obviously spending nights together.” EJ sets his Bud Light down on the counter. “Do you have meals together before or after sex? Do you spend time together just hanging out, without having sex?”

“Because we’re friends!” Gabe says, semi-hysterically. 

EJ shakes his head and picks the beer back up. “Dude, what do you think a relationship is?” 

“Look,” Gabe says. “Whatever it is, Tyson doesn’t want one, okay? So I’m not gonna put myself out there, and admit I have a bunch of feelings and shit, and spook him.”

“How do you know he doesn’t want one?” EJ asks. “Has he said to you directly, since this started, that he doesn’t want a relationship specifically with you?”

“No,” Gabe says. “Jesus, of course not, we haven’t talked about it. But - I mean, he never commits or dates much, you know that! You warned me about that, and...” _I didn’t listen and now I’m totally fucked_ , he doesn’t say.

EJ shrugs. “If you have feelings for him, it’s kinda too late.”

Gabe sighs, very very deeply, and puts his head back down on the counter. 

“I still think you should talk to him,” EJ says. “You don’t actually know how he feels. And look, yeah, I told you to be careful, because I know you. I didn’t want to see you get hurt because you’re a relationship guy, not a hook up guy.”

“I could be a hook up guy!” Gabe says, lifting his head up, like that’s the point.

EJ shrugs. “Not with Tyson.”

Gabe frowns at his beer, running his finger around the top edge. If he’s honest with himself, he knows EJ is right, knows that it never could have been casual with Tyson. There’s too much wrapped up in it and Gabe has been invested for too goddamn long. He thinks maybe he actually knew that all along. Maybe that’s why he started it.

“Just talk to him,” EJ says, cutting through his thoughts, finishing his Bud Light and rinsing out the can. “You’re gonna turn yourself inside out if you don’t.”

Gabe sighs again. “I just don’t think I can. I don’t want to scare him off.” He rubs at the corner of his eye and admits, quietly, “Having him like this is better than not at all.”

EJ just looks sad.

 

 

January starts to bleed into February, and Gabe doesn’t say anything. They’re both focused on the hockey season, the wins still coming, playoffs still within reach - he tries not to think _for now_ as he repeats generic lines about keeping the momentum on their side to the media - and Gabe feels most days like one wrong move and everything is going to come crashing down around him. He thinks nobody could blame him for wanting to keep things with Tyson the way they are: easy, and fun, and not about Gabe’s feelings.

They’re on the road, a three-game leg in western Canada, when Tyson shows up at his hotel room. It’s late, it’s after a brutal loss, after a series of interviews where all Gabe could do was talk about bad bounces and missed chances, after a flight that felt like it would never end, but Gabe lets him in anyway. He lets Tyson push him down onto the bed and kiss him, hands digging into Gabe’s hair, until his lips are buzzing and he feels dizzy and warm and all he can think about is getting the rest of their clothes out of the way.

“You okay?” Tyson asks, when they stop kissing to undress. He cups Gabe’s face in his hands and his eyes are concerned and Gabe comes so close to just blurting it out. Instead he takes a deep breath. 

“Been better,” he admits. Tyson cracks a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“Me too,” Tyson says, starting to work on Gabe’s pajama bottoms, pulling them down over his thighs. He gets them off and settles his weight back on top of Gabe, a warm, familiar presence, and kisses him again, deeply. “I actually meant in general, though, not just after the game tonight. You’ve seemed… I don’t know. Distracted.” His lips are against Gabe’s jaw, and Gabe feels disarmed, raw.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he says.

“You wanna talk about it?” Tyson asks. Gabe can tell that he’s striving so hard for casual, there’s no way it possibly could be.

“Tys,” he starts, and Tyson lifts his head up and meets Gabe’s eyes and it’s suddenly so much. Gabe feels like there’s no possible way it isn’t written all over his face. The silence stretches out until it’s taut and he can see when Tyson blinks rapidly, when he swallows and looks away. Gabe has got to pull himself together.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Tyson says, and kisses his collarbone, reaches down and takes them both in hand, his touch gentle but still rough and dry. Gabe hisses out a breath, throws his head back on the pillow and screws his eyes shut and tries not to think about what just happened.

Tyson kisses him on the mouth again, gets up and finds the lube and condoms in one of Gabe’s bags, kneels over Gabe on the bed and opens himself up slowly. Gabe digs his fingers into Tyson’s thighs and watches as his chest flushes red and groans low, voice cracking a little, when Tyson sinks down onto his dick.

“That’s good,” Tyson says, breathless, leaning forward to kiss him again. He grabs at Gabe’s hair and bites his lip and Gabe wants to get his hands everywhere at once: Tyson’s hair, Tyson’s face, his back, his ass and thighs, his dick. He ends up settling his hands on Tyson’s thighs, digging his fingers in and driving his hips up, making Tyson gasp and pull his hair.

“Fuck,” Gabe says, his voice low.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, and does it again, bites at his neck, and Gabe feels like he’s coming apart at the seams. All he can hear is the sound of skin on skin and their breathing.

“I’m - come on,” Gabe mutters after a few minutes.

“You come on,” Tyson says, but he sits back enough to get a hand on his dick, and it doesn’t take much before he’s throwing his head back, cursing, clenching around Gabe and coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck,” Gabe says again, brokenly, and comes. Tyson leans back down and kisses him again, slow and a little sweet, and Gabe runs a hand up over the curve of his back. He allows himself one gentle sweep of his thumb over Tyson’s cheek before dropping his arm, taking a deep breath. 

He’s vaguely aware of Tyson getting up, shuffling into the bathroom and running the faucet, coming back and cleaning him up a little. The mattress dips when Tyson pulls back the blankets and slides in next to him, presses up against Gabe’s back. 

“Hey,” Gabe mumbles, and Tyson puts his arm over Gabe, absently rubs his fingers over Gabe’s skin and kisses his shoulder.

“Go to sleep. I’ll stay for awhile before I head back.”

“Okay,” Gabe says. _I love you_ , he doesn’t say.

 

 

They finish off the road trip with a win and head home. On the tarmac in Denver, Gabe catches up with Tyson and bumps their hips together. Tyson is mid-yawn, eyebrows pulled together, and Gabe has to try not to smile.

“You wanna come over tonight?”

Tyson looks startled, as if that’s somehow a strange thing for Gabe to be asking him even though they’ve spent a lot of nights together over the last three months. “Um…”

“Zoey would be excited to see you,” Gabe presses. He isn’t sure why, but this feels important.

“I - I can’t tonight,” Tyson says.

“Oh.” Gabe frowns a little. “Why not?”

“It’s just not a good night,” Tyson says, which makes no sense, because it’s almost 1 AM and they have an off day tomorrow. His eyes slide to a point over Gabe’s left shoulder, and he literally cups a hand around his ear even though Gabe is pretty sure he didn’t hear a thing. “Oh - what’s that, Nate? I’ll be right there!” He doesn’t make eye contact as he says, “Sorry, buddy. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay,” Gabe says to the air, because Tyson is already jogging toward Nate, who’s busy laughing at Josty and JT and absolutely was not calling for Tyson to come over. What the hell.

“What was that?” EJ asks quietly, materializing from somewhere behind him.

Gabe rubs his eyes. He’s fucking tired. “I have no idea.”

EJ considers the situation for a minute, and then nods. “Okay. I’ll swing by my place and drop off my stuff and then I’m coming over with beer.”

“It’s already late,” Gabe says halfheartedly. They _do_ have a day off tomorrow.

“Yeah, and your not-boyfriend just blew you off,” EJ says, not unkindly. Gabe tries not to wince. “I’m coming over.”

“Don’t bring any Bud Light,” Gabe says, after a minute. EJ cracks a smile and salutes.

They end up both lying across Gabe’s huge sectional, drinking Heineken, and not talking about Tyson. Instead they have the TV on low, are half watching a Sean Connery James Bond movie on BBC America’s marathon. Zoey is curled up, wedged between EJ and the back of the couch, sleeping with her head resting on his chest, and Gabe mostly listens and offers the occasional hum of agreement as EJ talks about basketball and new movies and the hikes he wants to go on once the weather gets nicer. Gabe falls asleep somewhere around EJ’s tangent about noise pollution and increased litter in the Rockies because the national park draws so many visitors, and it’s fine. It’s not Tyson’s stupid laugh or incessant chatter or the way he insists on being the big spoon, always, but it’s totally fine.

The next morning EJ makes them eggs and leaves the extra beers in Gabe’s fridge, and he goes with Gabe to take Zoey to the dog park before he heads home, and they still don’t talk about Tyson, and it’s still fine.

 

 

Tyson doesn’t text him, and he definitely avoids him at practice on Monday. He’s usually all up in Gabe’s space, critiquing his slapshot and challenging him to battle for the puck in corners, but - Gabe notices he looks tired, and he sticks close to Nate and doesn’t say much to anybody. When they’re done he tries to sneak out early, but Gabe sneaks out first and is waiting in the hallway when Tyson comes out of the room, unshowered, still wearing a sweaty practice tee. There’s a piece of tape from his socks stuck to his pants, and his hair is a disaster.

“Uh,” Tyson says when he sees Gabe. His eyes start darting around, like he’s looking for the nearest escape route.

“Hi,” Gabe says. “Hey. Is - are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, very unconvincingly. “I just have, um. An appointment.”

“Right,” Gabe says. 

“So I have to take off,” Tyson says. He hesitates, then his shoulders slump and he says, “Look, I’ll come over this afternoon, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Gabe says. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” His chest hurts, but he means it.

“I’m okay,” Tyson says. He smiles, just a little, and then looks away, down the hall. “So - ”

“Right. I’ll see you later.” Gabe shoves his hands in his pockets, tries to smile back around the lump in his throat, watches him go.

 

 

Tyson rings the bell when he shows up at Gabe’s later, which is weird because he normally just barges in, and he smiles stiffly and doesn’t make eye contact. He doesn’t take his jacket off and throw it on Gabe’s furniture, either, just pets Zoey and follows Gabe to the kitchen and hovers in the doorway.

“So what’s going on?” Gabe asks. He doesn’t specifically mean _why have you been avoiding me_ , but he doesn’t not mean that, either. 

“Um. Listen,” Tyson says, and rubs the back of his head. “I - I can’t do this anymore.”

The bottom of Gabe’s stomach drops out. “You - what?”

Tyson gestures vaguely. He’s still standing by the door and it feels like an endless, insurmountable chasm suddenly opening up between them. “I just, um. Think it’s better if we end this.”

“This,” Gabe repeats stupidly. His heart is beating in his ears.

“Sorry,” Tyson says awkwardly. 

Gabe stands there, too aware of his arms hanging weirdly at his sides, and feels like he’s been hit by a truck. “Did I do something?”

“No!” Tyson says, too quickly, his eyes wide and placating. Gabe hates it. “No, you didn’t, I’m sorry. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Oh,” Gabe says. “Okay.”

Tyson hesitates until the silence is almost unbearable, and then says, jerking his thumb over this shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“Okay,” Gabe repeats. There’s a part of him that’s yelling at him to say something, tell Tyson the truth about how he feels, but there’s a bigger part that’s frozen, numb. It’s the same part that’s saying _see, he doesn’t commit, why would it be any different with you?_

He stands there, unmoving, until he hears the front door shut behind Tyson, and then he sags against the fridge and takes a few shaky breaths and presses his lips together. Zoey comes wandering in and looks at him, noses against his pant leg, and Gabe presses his palms against his eyes and absolutely does not tear up.

 

 

The thing is, now Gabe has to be fine. Tyson can be awkward and dodge him in the hallways and stick to Nate’s side like a barnacle all he wants, but they still have to play hockey and Gabe is still the captain. He has to be responsible, which means he has to show up for their game the next day and greet Tyson like everything is normal and play hockey. He can’t turn off his phone and disappear for a week, as much as he wants to.

EJ takes him out after the game, lets him sit in silence and drink too much and drives him home once he starts getting maudlin. 

“Why’d he do it, though,” Gabe slurs against EJ’s shoulder as they struggle inside. “We were so good, man, why can’t he do it anymore? What does that even _mean_.”

EJ digs through the kitchen cupboard for a plastic cup, fills it with water, pushes it into his hands. “I don’t know, buddy.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Gabe mumbles into his water. “Not like I like him, anyway.”

“He didn’t know how you feel,” EJ says, so patiently. 

“He didn’t want to commit,” Gabe says, finishing the water and letting the cup clatter into the sink. “That’s all there is to it. ‘m stupid to think maybe it’d be different with us.”

“You’re not stupid,” EJ says. Gabe snorts, turns to go upstairs and has to grab for the wall to steady himself. He decides to go to the couch instead: closer, fewer stairs. Smart. EJ trails behind, grabs a blanket off of the armchair and puts it over him once Gabe is sprawled on the couch. 

“Love you, man,” Gabe tells him. 

“Don’t sleep on your back,” EJ says, patting one of Gabe’s feet. Gabe huffs and struggles onto his side, getting twisted up in the blanket and yanking at it until he frees himself. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Mmpfh,” Gabe says into the couch cushion. 

 

 

Gabe isn’t proud to admit it, but he does avoid Tyson as much as he can for as long as he can, which ends up being not actually very much at all for a month, and then Tyson corners him on the plane as they head out for a two-game trip at the beginning of March. The end of the season is in sight and they’re sitting in a playoff spot and Gabe isn’t getting carried away, but he’s allowing himself small moments of hope.

“I’m sitting here,” Tyson informs him, sliding into the seat next to him. “Nate finished my M&Ms earlier and doesn’t see anything wrong with that so I’m not speaking to him right now.”

Gabe laughs in spite of himself and immediately wishes he hadn’t, because now there’s a spark in Tyson’s eyes, a warmth that makes Gabe want to jump out of the plane.

“I knew you’d understand,” Tyson says, getting out his headphones.

“Yeah, I really get you,” Gabe says without thinking about it, because he is a stupid, stupid man. Tyson glances over at him, and for maybe eight perfect, excruciating seconds, they’re just looking at each other and Gabe’s stomach hurts. He seriously considers leaning over and kissing Tyson on the mouth right there, in front of God and everyone, consequences be damned. His hands are sweating. Then Tyson smiles slightly, looks away, and the moment passes.

It’s a little easier after that, though. They go out for dinner in Columbus as a group and Tyson sits next to Gabe, laughs at his jokes and orders dessert that he won’t share, and Gabe tries to just remember how it used to be. It’s not the same, it won’t ever be, but it can be okay again. That’s what he tells himself in the Uber from dinner to some bar, and that’s what he tells himself as they all press into a booth and he drinks two beers and doesn’t track Tyson’s every move, and that’s what he’s telling himself when he shoves at EJ to get out of his way so he can go order another round.

“I don’t think you wanna go over there right now,” EJ says, not budging, so Gabe shoves at him again because yes he does, what the hell, and - oh. 

Tyson is leaning against the bar, and Gabe can tell from across the room that he’s flirting with the bartender, a tall blond with thick forearms and a nice beard. The guy looks partly amused, partly genuinely interested, and Gabe wants to throw up. His heart feels like it’s in a vise. Tyson is Tyson, Gabe is in love with him, and it will almost definitely never be okay again.

 

 

“ - don’t understand what the hell you’re doing.”

“Shut up, Nate.” That’s Tyson, sounding pissy. Gabe blinks once and tries to figure out what’s happening; he had crashed almost as soon as the plane back to Denver took off, but now he’s awake and Nate and Tyson are sitting behind him, whispering furiously at each other. Gabe doesn’t even really have to think about it before he closes his eyes again, tries to keep his breathing even.

“I’m just saying, I don’t know why you pulled that bullshit. If you actually wanted to pick up then fine, but as soon as he left you couldn’t stop talking to that guy fast enough, and we both know you’re miserable.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Tyson repeats. “We’re not talking about this now.”

“I just don’t get it,” Nate hisses, and Gabe is really listening now, fighting the urge to turn his head so his ear is more conveniently placed by the space between the seats. “It’s like you don’t want to be happy, Tyson, I swear to God.”

“You don’t know a single thing about my happiness,” Tyson snaps. There’s a pause.

“I know you were,” Nate says finally, still whispering but less angry, now. “I know that you were happy, and I know that now you’re not, no matter how many guys you pretend to be into just to make - ”

“Shut up!” Tyson hisses, and there’s a smacking noise that Gabe is pretty sure is Tyson putting his hand over Nate’s mouth.

“Okay, Jesus, your hands smell like Doritos, that’s disgusting,” Nate says. “Get off me. I’m just saying. Let yourself be happy.”

“It’s not that easy,” Tyson says. He’s mumbling, and, Gabe realizes with a pang, it’s only because of countless mornings spent deciphering Tyson’s sleep-slurred speech that he can make out the individual words. “You know it’s not, and it’s too late now anyway.”

“If that’s what you think, you’re dumber than I’ve ever imagined,” Nate tells him, and Gabe hears Tyson slug him. “Ow, Brutes, fuck off.”

“You fuck off,” Tyson says. “I’m watching a movie and ignoring you now.”

There’s nothing but rustling and movement for maybe thirty seconds, then Nate says, “Fine, let me watch too,” and they fall silent and Gabe is left wide awake, trying to figure out what the hell all that was about. 

 

 

On the list of things Gabe didn’t expect, getting home from walking Zoey on an off day between home games to find Nate sitting on his front steps is pretty high up there. It’s not that he and Nate aren’t friends, but he knows perfectly well who Nate would align himself with if it came to that. They haven’t talked much recently.

“Hey,” Nate says when Gabe and Zoey get closer. “Sorry to just come by, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure,” Gabe says, trying not to feel nervous. That would be absurd. He is 100% not afraid of Nate. “Come on in.” He puts Zoey in the backyard with water and then looks expectantly at Nate, who’s standing there with his arms folded across his chest.

“Did you break up with Tyson?” Nate asks bluntly.

“Is that what he told you?” Gabe asks, annoyed. “And nobody broke up with anybody, it wasn’t like that - ”

“Goddammit,” Nate says, deflating. Gabe can see the fight go out of him as he sits down at the kitchen table. “No, he didn’t, and I was pretty sure it was him, but he hasn’t told me much. I thought maybe if it had been you, this would make more sense.”

“Why would I have broken up with him?” Gabe demands. “I mean, it wasn’t a break up, but - ”

“It was a break up,” Nate says, cutting him off. “Come on. You’re both miserable.”

“Why is _he_ miserable?” Gabe says. Now he’s just pissed. “He ended it. What right does he have to be miserable?”

Nate stares at him. “God, you - the two of you deserve each other. _Seriously?_ ”

“Seriously what?” Gabe says. He’s starting to get a headache, right between his eyes, and he wants desperately for this conversation to be over so he can go take a nap. “I really don’t feel like playing guessing games, man.”

“You’re gonna have to talk to him,” Nate says, infuriatingly. “It’s not my place, but this is stupid.”

“I’m not talking to him,” Gabe says, then reconsiders. “Well, I’m not starting it. I don’t know what the hell is going on, I’m not about to put myself out there and get stomped on again.” His brain rewinds what he just said, and fuck. “I mean,” he starts, but Nate’s eyes are wide.

“Holy shit, you _do_.”

“I do what?” Gabe asks, playing stupid. Fuck. “Nate, what the hell?”

“Listen,” Nate says, getting up from the table. “It’s none of my business, but if you haven’t told him how you feel I think you should.”

Gabe sighs. No point pretending, then. “Why? So he can shoot me down again? No thanks.”

“I just think,” Nate starts, and Gabe can tell he’s choosing his words very carefully. “You have more in common there than you think. And he doesn’t really know how to deal with it. Not that it’s an excuse,” he adds quickly when Gabe narrows his eyes. “But he doesn’t. So. Talk to each other. I’ll tell him the same thing.”

And then he leaves. Gabe’s head is pounding. He lets Zoey in the house and locks all the doors and sets his alarm system and takes a nap. He decidedly does not think about Nate or Tyson or what any of this means or the small, persistent tug of hope in his chest.

 

 

The team goes out as a group after the regular season ends, and after three beers Gabe finds himself standing on a chair, solemnly telling them all how much he loves them. He’s pretty sure Mikko is responsible for goading him into this public display of affection, but what the hell. The season’s over, he’s in a good mood, and Gabe really does love them all. He says so out loud again.

“We love you too, Gabe!” someone - Yak, he thinks - yells. Everyone cheers.

Gabe hops down, grinning, gets caught up in hugs from Mikko and Kerfy and EJ. As he’s sitting back down, he catches Tyson’s eye. He’s toward the back of the group, smiling but slightly more subdued than the rest of the guys, and he meets Gabe’s gaze and holds it. Gabe nods at him in acknowledgment, just a little, and tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

 

 

Gabe is packing. He hates packing, always forgets things even though he does this so often, and it’s just mundane and boring and when his doorbell rings, he abandons everything on his bed without a second thought. Zoey is standing in the hall, tail wagging curiously, and he pets her head and opens the door and is drawn up short because Tyson is standing there, hands in his pockets. His hair is longer than usual and Gabe wants to run his fingers through it.

“Hi,” Tyson says, looking right at Gabe and not blinking. “Can I come in?”

“Um,” Gabe says, and stands out of the way to let him by. As soon as he gets in the door, Tyson kneels down to pet Zoey, who’s sniffing his face and wagging her tail so hard her entire body is wiggling. Gabe’s throat hurts.

“I missed you,” Tyson is telling Zoey, because life is not fair. Gabe clears his throat, and Tyson kisses the top of Zoey’s head and stands up. “Is it okay if we talk, maybe?”

“Sure,” Gabe says, striving and failing for nonchalance. They sit at either end of the couch and Tyson fidgets with his hands. Gabe just waits him out.

“You scare the shit out of me,” Tyson blurts, finally. 

Gabe blinks at him. “I what?”

Tyson takes a deep breath. “You scare me, Gabe. This, what we’ve been doing scares me, and I panicked, and it was stupid, and I’m _sorry_.”

“Why does it scare you?” Gabe asks. He feels, finally, like he’s putting the pieces together, but - he has to be sure.

“I love you,” Tyson says. His voice is soft, quiet, but he’s looking right at Gabe and it sounds like it’s fucking echoing through the room. “I didn’t know - I don’t feel like this a lot. Maybe ever. When I realized how I felt, I freaked out, and it seemed like - like maybe you loved me too. It all felt like too much.”

“That’s stupid,” Gabe says weakly. “Not you loving me, you freaking out.”

Tyson laughs, carefully, like he isn’t sure that he should. “Yeah, I know. Typical.” They’re both quiet for a minute, and Gabe can’t quite believe this is happening. It feels like a dream.

“Can I ask you something?” Tyson says. Gabe nods. “That night in Winnipeg, the last time we - well. You remember?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says hoarsely. Sometimes it’s all he can think about, how if he’d known it was the last time he would’ve savored it a hell of a lot more. He wouldn’t have let Tyson leave, would’ve kissed him another hundred times, maybe even would’ve been brave enough to put himself out there and say it.

“You looked like you wanted to say you love me,” Tyson says, and it’s not a question, but Gabe will let him have this one. He’s not going to get another chance.

“I did.”

“Damn it, Gabe,” Tyson says, no real anger behind it. “Why didn’t you?”

“That wasn’t what we were doing,” Gabe says, a little helplessly. 

“Wasn’t it?” Tyson asks, and it occurs to Gabe that they’re moving closer to each other, the space between them on the couch less than one cushion now. “Do you - how do you feel about me now?”

Gabe takes a breath. Tyson’s face is open and searching and pleading, and Gabe feels himself falling. He thinks, _fuck it_. “Jesus, Tys, I - I’m in love with you.”

Tyson’s face lights up. It’s maybe the best thing Gabe has ever seen. “Can this be what we’re doing now? Like, can I stop pretending I’m not totally gone for the way you would get up in the mornings and casually make breakfast and then say, ‘oh, do you want some eggs before you leave? Oh, oops, we took too long eating, now we have to go to practice together’?”

Gabe feels his face turn red. It’s kind of great. “Yeah. Can I stop pretending that I don’t want to kiss you all the time?”

“You want to kiss me all the time?” Tyson asks. His eyes are dark. Their thighs are touching now.

Gabe nods. “Every minute.”

“Hmm,” Tyson says, blatantly staring at Gabe’s mouth. “That might be tricky during games, but I’m prepared to give you every other minute.”

“Shut up,” Gabe says, smiling a little, leaning in most of the way, until their noses are brushing. His heart is hammering in his chest, and when he curls his fingers around Tyson’s wrist he can feel Tyson’s pulse beating wildly, like a hummingbird.

Tyson leans in the last inch and kisses him. He runs his thumb over Gabe’s cheek, cups his face in his hand, and Gabe curls his toes up in his socks and kisses Tyson back like his life depends on it. Tyson makes a happy, humming noise against his mouth and Gabe feels overwhelmed with affection, head buzzing. When Tyson pushes at Gabe’s shoulders, he moves easily, sits back against the couch so that Tyson can swing his leg over, straddle Gabe’s lap and push his hands into Gabe’s hair and keep kissing him. 

“Nice,” Gabe gets out appreciatively, settling his hands on Tyson’s hips, and Tyson laughs. It vibrates against Gabe’s chest.

Gabe has his hands up inside Tyson’s shirt, touching every inch of skin possible, when Tyson suddenly climbs off him and holds out his hand. 

“Let’s go, Landeskog. We’re doing this right.”

“Do not tell me you’re suddenly too good to fuck on the couch,” Gabe tells him, but he’s already standing up.

“Oh, what, is that a dealbreaker for you?” Tyson says, grabbing at the hem of Gabe’s shirt and pulling it over his head before doing the same with his own. Both shirts end up thrown on the floor as they blindly make their way toward Gabe’s bedroom.

“Yeah,” Gabe says, kicking off his jeans in the hallway, like some kind of desperate, uncivilized person. He thinks vaguely he would’ve been embarrassed about it before, but now he doesn’t care because - well, Tyson’s doing the same thing, and Tyson’s looking at him like he’s never seen anything quite as good. Tyson loves him. “No couch sex, you’re outta here.”

“Later,” Tyson tells him, pressing himself against Gabe and leaning up to kiss him again. It sounds like a promise and Gabe grins against his mouth as they stumble into his bedroom, and then immediately stops because he realizes his bed is covered in his earlier attempt at packing.

“God,” Tyson says. “You are the worst packer in maybe the history of the entire world.”

“At least I fold things,” Gabe says, and promptly starts throwing all his neatly folded clothes on the floor. Tyson helps, and when the bed is clear Gabe tackles him onto it and pins him and kisses him very thoroughly as Tyson squirms against his thigh.

When they fuck, Tyson wraps both arms tight around Gabe’s shoulders, digs his fingers in a little and moans against his neck, and Gabe loves it. He comes as Tyson bites his shoulder and mutters “love you, fuck, _harder_ ,” which he thinks is pretty romantic, all things considered.

“Yeah, love you too,” Gabe says, kissing Tyson hard and wrapping a hand around his dick, jerking him off with quick, fast strokes until Tyson groans a string of curses against Gabe’s mouth, comes all over them both, and goes limp in Gabe’s arms.

Gabe wrestles him down to the mattress and pulls the blankets over them both, determined not to let him get up, and for once Tyson doesn’t try to, just curls into him. Gabe can feel him take a deep breath. 

“I’m glad you came over,” Gabe says, finally.

“Nate said I didn’t deserve Dairy Queen until I did,” Tyson tells him.

Gabe stares, then laughs. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tyson opens his eyes and grins at him, waggles his eyebrows. “Believe it, baby.”

Gabe kisses him again, and then of course Tyson slips out of his arms and gets up, but he’s still talking, even as he goes in the bathroom and turns on the sink, raising his voice so it carries over the faucet.

“Hey, want to go get pizza? There’s this new place downtown, it’s really good, I went there with Nate last week but I think for sure you’d like it. Gabe? Hey, did you fall asleep?”

“No,” Gabe says, smiling to himself. He can’t remember the last time he felt this good. “No, I’m just enjoying the moment.”


End file.
